


boons from old age

by Nanimok



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Future Fic, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Madara-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 07:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17597024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: A day in the life of chaotic elder Uchiha Madara.





	boons from old age

**Author's Note:**

  * For [puzzle_shipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puzzle_shipper/gifts).



> For [Tobun](http://puzzleshipper.tumblr.com/) and her undying support and cat pictures during the times I was lost on the path of life.

Things are different now that he’s older. His mornings are slower, quieter, softened with a little more care.

When he sleeps in, there’s breakfast waiting for him; rice and fish, tea in a still warm kettle, and a glass of green juice that Madara can’t decide if he likes or not. He always ends up drinking it anyway, else he suffer a lecture about nutrition and old age that would surely put him to sleep.

His mornings are a little more brittle, achier all over his body and concentrated on his hip. A cane is his constant companion after his hip surgery, his knees protest every time he pays his respects to his family’s butsudan, and he never leaves the house without his reading glasses.

Clan meetings, however, never change. No matter the size or scope, they can be as dull as a blunt kunai that hasn’t seen a sharpening block in years. At times, they’re _worse._

“What do you think, Madara-sama?”

Blinking himself back into attention, Madara eyes jump from the small room, to the faces staring at him, and to young Mikoto staring at the floor as if her eyes could cut through wood.

Right. Pushing for marriage between the future Head of Clan, newly minted jōnin Fugaku and chūnin Mikoto. The pressure to start bearing children from the elders would be immense and overbearing. Mikoto is blessed with sound judgment. While Madara would like someone like Mikoto heading his clan, he can’t help thinking that she’s a little too young to be raising children.

Madara represses a sigh. They’re all too young nowadays. Madara is just really old.

“Surely, there’s no rush,” Madara says. “They’ve hardly grown into their ranks.”

Fugaku and Mikoto flushes red, and Madara realises that he possibly implied the two was lacking in their ranks. He probably could’ve worded himself better.

“Pardon my interruption,” an elder member says, “but weren’t you Mikoto’s age when you came into leadership of the clan? Even younger, possibly.”

“We were at war,” Madara says. “Now we’re not. We have time.”

“War is on the horizon.”

“War is _always_ on the horizon. The threat has been made since the Second War ended and yet we’ve lived more than thirty years without it coming into fruition.”

“With all due respect, Madara-sama,” butts in Fugaku’s father, whose name escapes Madara at the moment. “We only want to secure the future of our clan. It only takes a day for war to be declared and we can’t live in the shadow of our past victories when…”

He stops, turning a little red.

“When Hashirama and I could keel over at any minute?” Madara offers, amused.

There’s a moment of silence in the room where everyone turns a little more mortified as each second passes, and Madara supposes that, yes, it is quite impolite to points out one’s impeding mortality. Fugaku’s eyes widens in quiet horror, but Mikoto looks as if she’s biting down a grin. Madara’s always liked her, smart girl that she is.

Madara waves out a hand. “Yes, yes, I’m getting on in my years, but I’m not quite senile yet, however. Even if Hashirama and I might have made a name for ourselves in the battlefield of the Second War. It’s hard to believe that our collective infamy is the singular thing stopping the other villagers from declaring war on Konoha.”

“I would never devalue the contributions others had in the war,” Fugaku’s father agrees.

“Exactly,” Madara says. “The Sannin, White Fang—there will always be a new generation of people who become legends. It is the growing strength of our village that precedes us, and it protects us more effectively than any bloodline. All this concern and hastiness, makes one think our numbers are dwindling when that is _hardly_ the case. Konoha is at the forefront of Hidden Villages and our clan is at the forefront of Konoha. So, really, I don’t see why there’s a such a rush for two young people to raise children.”

And then, Madara peers at the whole room over the top of his glasses. Let the decades of leadership layer on the weight of his gaze, and he pities anyone who challenges him about his deteriorating eyesight.

“Mikoto and Fugaku are dutiful people,” Madara continues. “Let them cultivate their talents, and their contacts. Let them fulfil their upmost potential, then I can think of no better, more qualified hands in raising the future of our clan. Anything else?”

No one has anything else to say. A lot of people are frowning, more are nodding, and a couple has dozed off in the middle of his rambling. Madara might be one of the oldest in the room, but his views have been considered radical for almost all his life. People shouldn’t be so surprised that he would say such things, really.

As long as no one is vehemently opposed to what he’s saying—well, that’s not quite right. As long as no one is _vocal_ about being vehemently opposed to what he’s saying, they can move on, and the meeting can end.

Good. It’s a beautiful day outside, and Madara’s bones are starting to creak from sitting down for so long.

Once the meeting ends, Mikoto waits for him, and she accompanies him through the gardens. He remembers when Mikoto reached little more than his knees, and shied away from strangers. She blinked up at him, at their first meeting, not knowing what to make of the much venerated Uchiha Madara.

Later, fearless in the only way children can be, she’d tell him that he made a big impression on her because of his bushy, black hair. It loomed bigger than his shadow, she said.

Now, she shortens her steps to match him—another quiet reminder of his age and a time long past. Not that he minds much.

His cane taps along the gravel path, and Madara asks, “They haven’t been bothering you much too much, have they?”

“They, Madara-sama?” Mikoto asks.

Madara huffs. “Boring, grumpy, old stodges who should be more focused on our accounts.”

Mikoto doesn’t stop her lips from twitching. “I know they mean well.”

She offers nothing more in their defence. Madara cracks his first genuine smile of the day.

“As if I can speak, I’m collecting more dust than my mother’s old scrolls,” Madara says. “But I remember what it’s like to be your age. It’s hard enough without all these people hassling you about your views, your friends, and your choices. Fifteen, is it?”

“Sixteen,” Mikoto says.

“Sixteen,” Madara says, incredulous. “I can’t recall many people raising children that young. Maybe when I was also that young, but that was when Clans were warring with each other. Everything is accelerated during war times, to get more soldiers out on the battlefield. That’s hardly something we should emulate. People are trending towards these goals when they’re older now, aren’t they?”

“Most of them,” Mikoto helpfully supplies. “Hiashi and Hizashi are marrying in the fall and they were only two classes above me in the Academy.”

Madara shakes his head. “Most of the elders are as transparent as glass. I’ll happily let the Hyūga come first in that aspect if that means we come first in every other aspect that matters.”

“Madara-sama,” Mikoto says, her voice full of mirth.

“Just between you and me, of course,” Madara tells her, before he cackles.

From then, they talk until they reach the stone bench under the cherry blossom tree, and it’s easy, confiding into someone who’s so willing to listen. Mikoto’s intelligence and strength is a whisper in the quiet space where others like to boast, and the respect that she gives goes beyond status. Madara feels secure knowing that her steady hands will shape the future of the Uchiha.

Holding his cane in front of him, Madara sits lowers himself onto the bench. His hips protests up until the moment he’s seated, then it goes back to being a dull ache he can shuffle to the back of his mind.

“You mentioned your mother’s old scrolls,” Mikoto says. “They’re the ones copied in the library, aren’t they? The anthology of children’s folktales.”

Madara nods. “They are.”

“I think it’s an apt comparison,” Mikoto says.

“Oh?” Madara says. “Because they’re long winded and full of nonsense?”

“Because they’re the children’s favourites,” Mikoto says. “The ones they resonate with the most. Sometimes, the lessons offered are carried through for the rest of children’s lives. ”

It’s not often people surprise him. “Huh,” Madara says. “I guess it can be seen that way.”

Mikoto bows, which usually comes before taking her leave, but she lingers. She purses her mouth sideways in an uncharacteristic show of indecisiveness.

“May I?” she asks.

Madara raises one brow, but he nods. Before he knows it, Mikoto sits on the bench beside him, scoots over, and throws her arms around him. Madara finally registers that he’s the victim of an ambush. A soft ambush that he feels more acutely inside his ribs than out. Hesitantly, he returns the hug.

“It’s nice knowing that someone will to hold you up when your foundations feel shaky. I breathe easier, now,” Mikoto says, sounding younger than she has since the morning. “Thank you, Madara-sama.”

 

* * *

 

After Mikoto leaves,  Madara wallows in the silence, while gazing off into a nondescript point in the distance. He doesn’t notice a small blur darting towards him until it plows into his legs, heedless of the harried woman chasing after him.

“Oof,” Madara says, looking down. “Hello.”

"Obito! Mind your feet and don't trample over the flowers—" She halts when she spots him. "Madara-sama!"

"Good morning, Kimiko-san," Madara says. "Obito being a handful, is he?"

"I'm so sorry, Madara-sama!" Kimiko folds herself into a bow, and when she comes up, she straightens her apron. "I put him down for nap, and next thing I knew, he's already scuttled off."

Obito tugs on his robes and waves a piece of paper at him. "Look what I drew, ojiichan."

Kimiko turns red. "Mind your manners, Obito!"

Madara chuckles. "It's fine," he says. "A little impertinence keeps me young."

Obito's drawing features a stick figures and a big, ball of spikes, coloured in black crayons, looming over them. The ball of spikes has arms coming out of it, and it seems to be scooping a stick man into its mouth—a mouth lined with frighteningly sharp, jagged teeth.

Madara tilts his head. He squints at the picture. "Oh," Madara says, feeling ridiculously touched. "Is this me?"

Obito nods. "Like in your stories," he says. "When you're inside the giant man and you saved Shodaime-sama from battle!"

"Ah, my Susanoo," Madara says, straightening out the crinkled corners of the picture. "I see it, now. This is absolutely stunning. Thank you, Obito."

Madara has been sitting out in the sun for the better part of an hour, but he hasn't been cognizant of it's warm until Obito beams at him. He hadn’t noticed how congested his heart was from his wallowing earlier either, until it now clears from the happiness that Obito is radiating.

Kimiko herself seems relieved at the reception, her posture less rigid. "We're glad you like it," she says. "Obito worked on it all day yesterday. We shouldn't bother you, I'm sure you have more important things to do. Come along, Obito. We have a lot to do at the markets today."

"You're not bothering at all," Madara says. "My schedule is completely blank this morning. Perhaps, Obito could keep me company for an hour or two?"

Kimiko hesitates. "Well..."

"Please, okaachan?" Obito pleads.

"I insist," Madara says.

Madara reaches down and sends a pulse chakra down his arm so that Obito sticks to him and hangs tight like a monkey, giggling. Armful of toddler, Madara lifts him up and plops Obito on the bench. Beside him, Obito sits up straight. Obito’s eyes are almost larger than half of his face, but he widens his eyes even more, and they quiver under the weight of false innocence he’s heaping on top of it.

Kimiko doesn’t look convinced at all—a smart woman in Madara’s opinion—but she hesitates.

“Well,” she says. "If it's not too much trouble..."

"Not at all," Madara says.

"I'm starting the Academy soon," Obito declares. "I'll be way too busy to see ojiichan when I have school all day."

 _"Obito,”_ Kimiko says, sounding a little exasperated.

Biting his cheek, Madara glances away. He shouldn’t be encouraging Obito, Obito might actually offend someone of high importance with his impudence one day. He’s not even Obito’s biological grandfather, but he lets himself wonder, at times. Obito’s the perfect mix of puppy obedience, rebellion, and heart that Madara adores, and he’s too old to pretend otherwise.

“He’ll grow out of it, eventually,” Madara assures her. “If Obito’s up to it, we can start on hand seals.”

Later, when Kimiko’s has thanked him profusely and left, Obito asks, “Can we also visit Shodai-sama later?”

“Hashirama is visiting family, sadly. He won’t be available until after dinner,” Madara says. “How come Hashirama gets a respectful address and I don’t?”

“Because Shodai-sama was Hokage. Everyone knows the Hokage is the best _ever.”_

“Insolent child,” Madara says. “I’ve changed my mind. Instead of hand seals, we can go over the basics of chakra theory as written down in textbooks you’ll be learning at the Academy.”

“Ew. No, thank you.”

Madara laughs, a little wheezy. “I could’ve been Hokage too, you know, if I had said yes.”

Obito gapes. “You said ‘ _no’_ to being _Hokage_?”

“I was a controversial figure,” Madara explains. “And I wanted to focus more on the clan instead of the whole village at once.”

From Obito’s horrified expression, it was as if Madara committed a crime.

Madara continues, “There were a lot of people opposed to me being Hokage at the time—for reasons I won’t bore you with—and I would’ve had to wear them down on top of my Hokage duties. Which is not ideal; being Hokage is not something to be taken when half of your mind is elsewhere. Wouldn't you rather a Hokage who could dedicate their all into their village?”

“That’s dumb,” Obito says. “Those people were dumb. You should’ve eaten them all with your giant man.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.” Madara pats Obito’s head. “Remind me to show you how Sussanoo works when you’re older.”

“Or! Or! We set them on fire,” Obito says, eye twinkling. “With a fireball the size of the Hokage Mountain!”

Madara nods. “Better.”

An early fixation with fire is always desirable for an Uchiha. Very promising.

“Will you teach me how to make fireballs?” Obito asks.

“Eventually. We should start on the easier exercises first—refining your chakra awareness.” Madara pushes himself up by his cane. “Come along, Obito. We can practice by the mint plant. Maybe if I’m lucky, a little fire will scorch them and I won’t have to drink that horrid tea concoction every morning.”

“Cool!” Obito jumps down, a ball of energy on two teeny legs. “Okaachan says mint is healthy for you because it’s green.”

“Your mother is a smart woman.”

“Does that mean matcha mochi are healthy for you?” Obito asks. “They’re also green.”

“No, and I see what you’re trying to do, you devious child,” Madara says, chuckling. “The last thing I should be doing is feeding you sugar, when you already have enough energy to run all the way to Kumo and back.”

Obito sighs. “I tried.”

He springs himself on one leg, ready to bounce forward and raze the ground with the speed of his footprints, but then he looks at Madara and reigns himself back. Sugar really is the last thing Obito needs.

“It’s okay if you weren’t Hokage, by the way,” Obito says, as Madara walks beside him. “When I’m older, I can be Hokage for the both of us.”

Madara would like that too; a world where Obito grows strong and healthy enough to be grinning under that ugly, triangular hat.

 _Yes_ , he thinks, as Obito almost trips on air beside him. _He would like that very much._

 

* * *

 

“Ah, Shishou. Just the person I wanted to see,” Kagami says. “And you brought me food! I feel like I’m twenty again and on my first day of apprenticeship.”

Madara sets food on the table, and Kagami flops over it, somehow procuring a teapot and cups before Madara has even sat down. The table clears within a second of blinking, papers stacked in a neat pile away from the centre, and Kagami stands to help with Madara’s seat but Madara waves him away.

“Glad to see your senses are still sharp whenever your stomach’s involved,” Madara says.

Kagami claps his hand. “Today, we feast like emperors.”

Kagami’s theatrics never fails to make Madara laugh. “A long day?”

“Such a long day,” Kagami says, pouring Madara tea before filling his own cup. “You’ll never guess the kind of prattling I’ve had to endured today. Hokage-sama, there’s too much funding into medical and trade! The growth of our military unit is being neglected! Our shinobi’s adolescence is unnecessarily prolonged! They should be protecting our village! Hokage-sama, Hokaga-sama, Hokage-sama! I swear, they treat me like a green shinobi fresh from the Academy, and my head’s about to explode!”

Madara hums in sympathy. “Have I mentioned how much I’m enjoying my retirement?”

“I’m counting my days,” Kagami says, wistful. “It’s not as if I spend hours with top consultants, a field specialists, and numerous counselling bodies over the future of our village daily. _Ugh_. So the usual, really. But that’s enough about me, I’ve heard you’ve been quite busy yourself.”

"Oh, really?”

"Yes, even though you should really be resting," Kagami says. "You know, as people who recently undergo hip surgery do."

"It has been weeks now. I'm fine."

"It's been exactly two weeks," Kagami says. "I'll never hear the end of it from both sensei _and_ Tsunade if you and little Obito keep running around, setting fire on things that _shouldn't_ be on fire and causing havoc when you should be resting."

Obito's picture flashes through his mind, along with little stick-men fleeing in terror. It makes Madara chuckle. He gestures at his head. "That's the great thing about being Hokage, Kagami-chan," he says. "You can ignore people as much as you like."

"I would _never_ ," Kagami says.

Madara raises his eyebrow, remembering all the times he could see Kagami phasing out while Danzou and Sarutobi were debating at him. Not _with_ him but _at_ him.

"Okay, not with those two," Kagami concedes. "Sensei is _sensei,_ and Tsunade…well, she is just plain scary."

"Isn't your eldest older than her?"

"Age changes nothing, shishou, as seen from how you still address me as if I’m twelve.” Kagami gave him an amused look from his tea cup. “The guards are thoroughly scandalised, by the way. I have seen Tsunade throw Jiraiya from one end of the village to the next with just a pinky. No shame in admitting that she absolutely terrifies me."

“Ha!” Madara almost slaps his knee. “Some things never change. Knowing Jiraiya, he probably deserved it for being a pervert.”

“Of course,” Kagami says with absolute certainty. “When is he not?”

Madara likes to call their lunch sessions a class in information gathering, but really Kagami and him are just big gossips.  

“Speaking of _change…”_ Kagami peers over his cup. “I had a morning full of concerned clan members coming into my office. _”_

Madara blinks innocently. “Interesting.”

“Very,” Kagami says. “I say many, but really it was the usual selective few including Uchiha Reo, who seem to be under the impression that I have any sort of control over you."

"Uchiha Reo," Madara repeats, again and again. "Oh! Fugaku's father! The uptight one."

"Shisou," Kagami says.

But Kagami doesn't disagree, so Madara chuckles. "He was pushing for marriage and pontificating about heirs to poor Mikoto. And really, it was needless. She's still so young."

"Ah, yes," Kagami says, around a mouthful of food. "That's more or less what he complained about. That and your blatant favoritism, which lasted a second before he realised why that was not a rather well thought out move."

" _Wise gentlemen_ , as if.” Madara scoffs. “Maybe one day he'll live up to his name. His mindset needs more more flexibility. More versatility. He wouldn't know how to relax even if he's waist deep in an onsen. And worse! Fugaku is just like him. The person he is now won't be able to keep up with someone who can go toe to toe with Mito-sama's successor."

" _Shisou,_ You're ridiculously outrageous."

"I'm only looking out for the success of our clan."

"By being, as I said before," Kagami fails to contain his smile, "ridiculously _outrageous_. I know for a fact that one of our dear clansmen is in this current guard shift, and they are about to collapse sideways in titters. _"_

"I sincerely hope not." Madara huffs in amusement. "Danzou will have their heads."

They both pause, imagining the profuse sweating that occurs whenever Danzou is mentioned, and they break off into a chuckle.

"It's alright, everyone stop sweating," Kagami reassures the room, and the tension straining the air visibly lessens. "I'm not letting Danzou lay a hand on any of my guards."

 _Or anyone at all,_ Madara thinks to himself. Sometimes, Danzou's ideals can be too extreme, too dangerous, even for someone like Madara. Kagami has never been afraid to admit the same to himself, despite Danzou being a close friend of his.

"Mito-sama's successor is one force of nature," Kagami says. "She is still adamant on being not only Mito-sama's successor, but mine as well. Give her a couple of years, and I would have whole-heartedly considered it, but it's a shame she's almost a generation younger than her competitors."

"A shame indeed," Madara says. "We'll have to watch her for the next time. Has the decision been made between Orochimaru and Dan Kato?"

"Not yet," Kagami says. "Actually, that's what I was hoping to speak to you about. It's almost an even split between the two of them, with the one-off outlier of Jiraiya becoming Hokage. Goodness knows, Jiraiya will scram to some untraceable land if he gets even a whiff of these ballots.”

“He seems to be doing fine with the Namikaze boy,” Madara says. “Tobirama has him, the boy, Minato, the times Jiraiya doesn’t, so he stays for dinner at times, and Minato seems fond of him.”

“Minato is another contender to watch for. Oh, the next race is going to be absolutely exciting! Are you and sensei free tonight? I have the files you can review and both of your counsel would be very much appreciated."

"Of course," Madara says. "Shall we come after dinner? Or before?"

"Come before. You both are always welcome for dinner," Kagami winks, "I'll even asked for no oil in the stir-fry so sensei will be appeased."

A guard with a cat mask appears beside Kagami and hands him a piece of paper. Kagami's eyes roams over the page before the paper crumbles into ash.

"Right on time," Kagami says. "It seems that sensei's finished with his meeting. You’ll be off to find him, I assume?"

He gets up to pull Madara’s chair back for him, but Madara waves him away. "No, no, it's fine, I can get the chair myself. Having you do these things for me makes me feel ancient."

"And calling me Kagami-chan doesn't?" Kagami asks, amused.

Madara think of the first time Kagami met the love of his life, coffee jelly, and the subsequent stomach ache after.

"Never,” Madara says. “You will be always be the boy who almost choked on coffee-jelly to me. The boy who shoveled so much into your mouth, the first time you tried it, you looked like a bloated frog. I’ll never forget it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That never happened,” Kagami says. He holds the door open. “Oh dear, I’m suddenly reminded of all the work I have to do. Thank you for the lunch, shishou. Always a delight to have you spilling my secrets and terrorising my guards. I'll see you tonight?"

"Of course," Madara says, walking to the door. “I’ll see you tonight.”

And because Madara is feeling nostalgic today, he reaches up and ruffles Kagami's hair as he passes through the door. Kagami, always on same wavelength as him, only squawks and bats his hand away.

 

* * *

 

Fresh from the formation of the village, Tobirama accosts him alone and offers Madara his life.

 _A duel_ , Tobirama says. _I’ve settled my accounts and no one will know otherwise. If you win, you can kill me. A brother for a brother._

It was honestly one of the dumbest decisions Tobirama has ever made.

Madara was volatile back then; full of anger and hurt. He was bleeding a wound that could never cauterised. He was living in a world that’s more broken than his heart. He was the oldest of five, the only survivor in a family of casualties and he couldn’t do it.

He had Tobirama’s neck in his hands. He could feel his arteries pulsing under his palm, and how weak his cartilage would be compared to his strength. Tobirama, beaten and bruised, with blood on the corner of his mouth. One hard squeeze and Madara could crush his windpipes—

—but he couldn’t do it.

Madara couldn’t do it.

When Izuna fell, the most harrowing agony ripped through him. He saw a bleak life holed with empty moments where his brother should be and it burned him to the core. What good was his dream, his peace, and his future, if his brother couldn’t experience it with him? It ached then, it aches now, and it will never stop aching.

He wouldn’t wish this pain onto anybody—not even his worst enemy—and not the least Hashirama, his closest friend. The one who shared their dreams of peace.

 _What do I do now?_ Madara says, hollowed out from grief. _I don’t know what to live for._

It took a while for Tobirama to answer, his throat raw but not from their duel. When he did, Madara remembered that Tobirama and Hashirama lost brothers of their own.

 _Live for them,_ Tobirama says. _Honour their memories. Keep going and live. Live, because they couldn’t._

 

* * *

 

People still bow and wait for him when he walks past. Madara can’t quite peg the year he opened the Police Force to the whole of Konoha, including civilians—it’s been _that_ long—but the array of faces which nod their heads at him have doubled. and while Madara appreciates the respect of the gesture, it does put a small pressure on him to hobble along quicker or risk looking undignified. That just won’t do for his pride. He waits outside the office, careful not to jar his knee.

Tobirama should be first out the door, as age and rank dictates. The door opens to his stern expression, seemingly weighed down by more than the lines of his face, as he searches across the room until his gaze lands on Madara. It seems so silly, especially at his age, that something so simple could give his heart pause, but as long as his heart doesn’t pause permanently, Madara supposes there’s no harm in it.

A lot of people find Tobirama’s resting expressions to be quite fierce and intimidating—not that they confessed it, Madara notices things—but most of the times, there’s nothing to it. Tobirama’s probably thinking about dinner. As such, he can’t help but laugh at Tobirama’s focused expression.

Tobirama walks to him. “Sorry about the wait. Have you been standing long? Although, you shouldn’t be standing at _all_. Why aren’t you at home resting?”

“Well that was a complete turnaround,” Madara says, offering his arm. “I haven’t even said a single word to you and you’ve already found reason to scold me.”

Looping his arm, Tobirama points out, “If you were at home resting, I wouldn’t be scolding you right now. Alas, you’ve been causing chaos during a meeting which you didn’t even have to attend. Because you were supposed to be resting.”

“You already heard about that?”

“Of course,” Tobirama says. “Mikoto told Kushina, who Minato moons over. Minato can be quite talkative if it’s about Kushina. It’s also how I know that Mikoto plans to drop something off for us later as a thank-you gift.”

"Truly a more efficient information network system than the one ANBU has now," Madara agrees. "And if you knew about Mikoto, then you definitely see why I had to crash the meeting.”

A sigh. “I suppose,” Tobirama says. “Although, I’ve been told that your general aura of disapproval travels throughout the whole compound. I heard it can be quite fearsome.”

“But it’s good to be present; being actively there scares them into submission,” Madara says. “Aren’t you always saying that I’m too complacent at times?”

“And you’ve always said I’m too arrogant for my own good,” Tobirama says.

“Well, I can’t disagree with myself.”

“Which is what you always say before you do the opposite of what I tell you.”

“Hush, I can already hear what you’re thinking. What you’re calling hypocrisy, I’m calling growth.”

Tobirama slants him a sceptical look. “Is that so?”

“Truly,” Madara says with a solemn tone.

They step into the Yamanaka flower shop and catch up with Suzu, the owner. A bouquet waits for them at the counter, and they thank Suzu with a deep bow that continues to make her blush, even after all these years. Finally, with flowers in his hands, they make their way to the cemetery.

It started off as a silly tradition when they were younger. Instead of celebrating his birthday when a new year begins like everyone else did, Izuna celebrated his on the day his mother gave birth.

Unapologetically shameless, brash and bold. It’s very much like Izuna to declare a whole day for himself, and it’s a story Madara loves to tell to anyone willing to listen.

Gingerly, and with Tobirama’s help, Madara kneels and frames the gravestone with his flowers.

“Happy Birthday, Izuna,” Madara says. He gives the stone one last brush for good luck before tugging at Tobirama’s arm.

Sage, Madara was so brutal with Tobirama in those earlier month, and somehow they’re here—with Tobirama helping him stand in front of Izuna’s gravestone with more tenderness than Madara deserves.

He remember being so angry with how Tobirama refused to let him drown in his grief, but Tobirama, dogged and determined, grieving in his own manner, kept pushing and pulling, and eventually, Madara had to come up for air.

Now, as they walk back to their shared household, Madara can’t help thinking:

It seems that he did end up taking Tobirama’s life for his own.

Madara links his free arm through Tobirama’s and walks closer. “I was thinking of paying the Academy a visit next month,” he says.

“Oh,” Tobirama says. “Not that I’m against this idea, but any reason why?”

“You know, just the usual visit. Show up, add fuel to the rumours that we’re immortal, and impress the children with stories of our youth.”

Tobirama looks skeptical. “Most of your stories give the children nightmares, even _after_ the embellishments and the polishing.”

“Not most,” Madara refutes. “ _Some_. _Obito_ likes them. He drew me a picture.”

“Ah,” a corner of Tobirama’s mouth quirks up, “the real reason reveals itself.”

“I look quite charming, in my opinion. He really captured my teeth.” Madara bares his teeth, then snaps his jaw up and down as if he was chomping down on a slice of meat.

A gravely laugh escapes Tobirama. “Stop that,” he says, squeezing his arm. “Before you lose your teeth faster than Obito will.”

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, Madara misses his siblings so much that he swears his heart beats their names.

There are days where he wakes up and thinks it’s not worth it—the truce, the temporary cease-fire, the safe-haven that is their village where children can grow strong and safe—none of this is worth it if Izuna isn’t there with him, if the children grow only to be sent out to die in the next war, and this horrible market where people’s lives are assets and currencies to be bargained and traded with carries on longer than he ever will on this blasted earth.

But change at such a grand scale doesn’t happen in one generation. As much as Madara tells Tobirama this to pull Tobirama out of his labs, he needs to believe it himself. They don’t have the answers today. They don’t need to. They only need to leave something that can help someone in the future find it.

He thinks of Kagami, and Mikoto, and Obito. He thinks of the many times he’s laughed today and decides that yes, it’s worth it. He will keep the torch glowing, so that the next generation can take up the burden and finish what he left behind.

He looks up at the sky, breathes in the sweet air, and knows within his core that this is all worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago [Tobun](http://puzzleshipper.tumblr.com/) linked me a prompt asking about old cantakerous Madara (the link escapes me at the moment) and it sparked this fic. It started off small, but Madara's feelings about the ninja world was too complicated and even now, I still think I haven't explored it enough. Plus, I adore thinking about mini help-the-elders-Obito hanging out with Madara. Why not add some MadaTobi in this ideal world too?
> 
> Thank you for reading and the years of support! Hope you enjoyed this fic!
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://fatcatsarecats.tumblr.com/)


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